


Sam the Obliviator, He's a Smooth Operator

by snarry_splitpea



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Forced Ejaculation, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Homophobic Language, M/M, Memory Alteration, Past Rape/Non-con, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 02:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10479885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea
Summary: Sam the MACUSA Obliviator has been using his position to assault and then wipe the memories of innocent women.  When Percival Graves is put at the head of the investigation into his crimes, he thinks he's going to get off scot free.  Graves, ostensibly straight and dubiously moral, makes sure Sam learns at least half his lesson.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



_John the Revelator_  
_He's a smooth operator_  
_It's time we cut him down to size_  
_Take him by the hand_  
_And put him on the stand_  
_Let us hear his alibis_

 

* * *

 

Graves sifted through the papers on his desk.  He had Sam’s file sitting wide open.  The folder was thin and held only one complaint.  A serious one.  The kind of complaint that required an investigation and could lead not only to termination… but arrest.

Graves wasn’t usually the type to don his glasses in front of a subordinate.  Nor was he the type to peel all the way down to his shirt sleeves just to reprimand someone, but he’d been staring at this file for hours.  Thinking. Thinking Thinking.  He’d left the file open during lunch and glanced back at it before finally summoning Sam to his office.

“I’m not going to pussyfoot around any of this, auror.  You’ve got a very specific job.  You do it well.  Better than most, to be honest.  …but there’s been a complaint.  HR wants me to investigate a sexual assault and repeated misuse of restricted spells.”

Sam kept his face neutral as he took a seat in front of Graves.  Graves stared at the man.  Waited.  Of course, Sam already knew his interrogation tactics.  The stern silences and the empty threats.  Graves had trained him to do similar, after all.  
  
“Legally,” Graves started, again, once he realized Sam wouldn’t let the staring rattle his nerves. “I have to go through your daily wand record with you.  We’ll talk about any inconsistencies and I’ll document our conversation.  That’s only step one.”

Sam nodded his consent and signed the printed list Graves unrolled for him.

Aurors started every day at the office with wand checks.  The MACUSA had the legal right to test for the last three spells cast from any witch or wizard’s wand.  Only the last three.  Most people tested positive for tooth-brushing, toast-making, and apparation.  There were also random wand checks throughout every month.  Typically, the last three spells were related to work the auror was doing.  File-summoning, fire-calling, and levitation among the most common finds during those checks.  
  
Sam, like any upstanding wizard, typically tested positive for the common spells. However, there were inconsistencies.  
  
Graves leaned across the desk to point at a date with his quill.  He underlined it and circled the spell next to it.  “Obliviate.  Your wand tested positive for a strong cast of this spell at six am.  The last time you were authorized to use this spell was the previous day at four p.m.  The spells preceding it were for travel and grooming.  Did you make unauthorized use of the Obliviate spell on this date or the date before?”

Sam met Graves’ eyes.  Leaned forward, himself.  Let his eyebrows lilt down at the corners to feign something like innocence.  “Not at all, Director Graves.  That strong cast you speak of was absolutely the authorized use at four p.m. the previous day.”

* * *

Sam remembered the morning clearly.  She’d been so… so alluring.  A tight-waisted little no-maj lady in head to toe pink.  What warm-blooded man could resist an hourglass and clacking heels marching down the sidewalk with such purpose?

Merlin, what was she?  A little housewife in her best suit, strutting out early for a day full of charging excessive purchases to her husband’s accounts?  A petite secretary ready to prance around an office as if she doesn’t realize how hard her boss’s cock is for her little pink-clad ass.

Her ass.  He could at least touch it, couldn’t he?  Merlin, he’d be late, but he couldn’t let this get away from him.

Slinking down the sidewalk behind her, Sam couldn’t help but smirk to himself.  A guy like him walking a little too close to a pretty girl like her?  People thought she belonged to him.  He got winked at by a couple of fellas and even had another pretty girl blush and avert her eyes when he made a kissy face at her.  
  
He glanced at his watch.  30 minutes until he needed to clock in.  God, could he even get off that quickly?  He supposed there was no time for chit-chat.  
  
He walked up beside her and threw an arm over her shoulders.  Leaning close, he only caught a glimpse of the lady’s startled face before he apparated both of them back to his apartment. He didn’t want to spare the spells to tie her up or fix her disheveled clothes, after.  So, he pressed the now screaming woman against his couch with her knees on the floor and her face on the cushions.  
  
“Makes me so much harder when you scream, doll.  You might want to hush and just take it,” Sam took another glance at his watch and sighed.  He’d already lost two minutes.  Of course, his suggestion didn’t help.  She begged him not to hurt her.  Asked where she was and how she got there.  Asked who he was.  He rolled his eyes at her.  

“Call me Sam, sweetheart.  Or,” He morphed his voice into a high-pitched facsimile of a terrified woman for the next four words, “No, Mister, Please, Stop!”  I like that nickname a lot.”

* * *

Sam wanted to roll his eyes at Graves, honestly.  But the man was his boss’s boss’s boss… and if he had Sam in his office, the situation was more than grim.  

He’d let time get away from him.  Dropped the woman off in an alley near MACUSA HQ, fixed his suit, obliviated the entire incident from her mind, and jogged into the building to clock in. By the time Auror Englewood was coming around for wand checks, he’d already gotten halfway through reading morning reports and forgotten to hide the obliviate.

Graves sighed and took off his glasses to rub the lenses clean.  “Do you mean I’m supposed to believe that from four p.m. until six a.m. the following day, you used absolutely no magic?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked up.  It did sound ridiculous.  But he knew Graves was a peacock.  “I’ve been practicing using wandless magic… so I can be more like you.”

For the first time since Sam had taken the position, Percival Graves looked taken aback.  Sam could have cheered, but he used a cough to hide his pleased expression.  Graves paused in his polishing to stare at Sam.  Then, composing himself, he slid his glasses back on, cleared his throat, and tapped his quill on the scroll, again.

“This date.  Incarcerous, Enshunte, Obliviate,” Percival’s stare was hard and cold.  What a damning combination.

Sam did his best to smirk and shrug.  “Incarcerous and Enshunte aren’t restricted.  And, uh… nor is a little afternoon delight during a lunch break.”

The color in Graves’ cheeks immediately rose.  It wasn’t likely that he was a blushing virgin, but he definitely hadn’t expected Sam to be so blunt about his activities.

“Clarify, auror,” he stated, his throat clearing again as he shuffled the papers between them.  He put the papers down and reached for a glass of water.  

Sam tilted his head to the side. Calculating. Men didn’t typically have their throats go dry just at the -idea- of someone fucking.  Unless they had a particular thing for that someone.  
  
Sam fought not to grimace.  There was no way Director Percival Graves was a fucking queer.  No way his hero would… Sam reached for his own glass of water, then.

“Clarify?  That I tied up the girl I was seeing and used a spell to shove a phallic object in her ass while I fucked her in the other?”

Graves sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Sam couldn’t tell if he was schooling his rage or some other sensation.  “Yes, Auror.  Exactly that.  As you were informed before you arrived, this entire exchange will be documented.  I can’t leave room for… innuendo.”

“Oh, of course not, sir.”

Graves opened his eyes and focused them on the scroll, again.  “The last authorized use of Obliviate was that afternoon at exactly…”

* * *

Sam remembered her.  An incarcerous hex strong enough to still a raging bull in their tracks.  He’d wrapped her body from head to fucking toe.  Even her mouth to keep her from screaming.  Magical ropes binding her like some gorgeous little mummy from the crypt of an ancient king.    
  
He’d had to push a couple of ropes aside to slip inside of her.  Had felt the scratchy texture of the ropes against his skin as he thrust against her prone body.  She’d groaned against her gag.  He could hear her weeping and simply tangled his fingers into her lovely hair and kissed what bits of skin his lips could get to.  Her forehead.  Her wet eyelids.  He could feel the pressure inside her from the large rod he’d planted in her backside.  She’d been far too loose at the start and he liked them tight.  Wound up.  Gripping and ready to wring him completely dry.

* * *

Graves noted the next few uses of Obliviate as authorized.

“Practice,” Sam said.  Allowed at last once every six months.  

“Lost my wand for the evening.  Hadn’t touched it since work the previous day,” he explained.

“Oh, that one?  That one was, uh…” Sam had used so many excuses.  One right after the other.  He was running out.  He hadn’t realized Graves would go back -months- into his past.  He expected a few weeks around the incident and the rest of the report to be waved off.  Instead, the two of them were already thumbing through the previous year.

“Director, do you really expect me to remember that far back?”

Graves let their eyes meet, again.  He seemed to be concentrating on avoiding such contact. “Are you stating that you don’t remember?”

“I…” Sam figured Graves would have to mark it down.  That he’d have time to wipe his brain out a bit before an investigation into this particular lie was authorized.  He needed time to organize all the fond memories of his ladies… but he’d throw them all into a pensieve and risk getting caught that way before he’d just let them completely go. “Yes, sir.  I’ve forgotten what happened on that date and the day before.”

Percival wasn’t the type of man to sigh too often, but sigh he did.  He pushed away from his desk and recovered his wand from a ledge behind himself.  Sam’s eyes flickered to the door and he realized there was no way to escape this man.

Was he about to be arrested, pending the investigation?

Instead of cuffing him, Percival summoned a sheaf of paper from a cabinet behind Sam.  It was a contract that fluttered down in front of the auror.

“Sign at the bottom to confirm that you consent to Legilimancy being used in this investigation,” Graves instructed as he unbuttoned the wrists of his shirt.  Meticulously, he began to roll his sleeves up.

Sam hesitated.  Memories of so many women.  Running. Crying. Begging… and even the ones that had wanted him.  Curling fingers and spreading thighs.  His cock hard and flushed against painted cheeks. and between ruby lips.  He’d wiped them too, because the first time with anyone was always the best time.  He liked the hunger of a fresh fuck.  No room for monotony to settle in.

“If you don’t consent, this becomes an arrest and I do it, anyway.”

“Is that legal?!” Sam blurted out.

Graves chuckled.  “I’m not an idiot, Sam.  I’ve got to check off the boxes.  Dot my I’s and cross my T’s.  …there’s protocol.  Is this legal?”

Graves took off his glasses once he was done with his sleeves.  He sat them gingerly on his desk and approached Sam.  Perched his bottom on the edge of the metal desk and leaned over the man.  “It’s your word against my word.  Did you sign it before the procedure, or after when I make a plea-deal with you because I already know you’re guilty as sin?”

Sam swallowed.

“Well if you already know it’s true, why do you have to look!?”  Sam’s voice was growing shrill.  Ever the petulant youth he’d been when he was -actually- young.

“I like to watch,” Graves stepped off the desk to sit across Sam’s hips.  Straddling him and facing him.

Sam’s face went immediately red and Graves spelled away all his attempts to push him off.

“GET OFF ME, YOU QUEER!”

Graves shook his head ever so slightly at the attempted insult.

“Oh, Sam.  It would  _behoove_  you to play nicely with the man the that your freedom in his hands.”

* * *

Sam’s mind was as tawdry a landscape as Graves expected.  Queenie Goldstein on her knees.  Blonde curls fluttering as her head bobs.  Aurors tied to training equipment with their skirts on the floor.  Shopgirls at department stores bent over in dressing rooms.  Single mothers he’d been sent to check up on clawing at their own kitchen counters as he reams them from behind.

Graves drops out of Sam’s mind long enough to grab the man’s chin and hold their faces barely an inch apart.  They were both hard.  Graves could feel the younger man’s length pressing against his own.

“Have you ever touched Tina Goldstein?” Graves asked.  His tone harsh and commanding.

Sam could barely concentrate on anything beyond his cock. “Wha…?”

“Auror Tina Goldstein.  Is she somewhere in your mind sucking you off or being used as a pincushion?”

“Tina, no!?  A girl in a pair of slacks?  And with that dopey haircut, I’d nev…”

Sam hadn’t realized Graves’ other hand had drawn up until it swept down to slap him hard against the cheek.  Pain seared his skin and jolted through his skull.

“Good,” Graves spat before slapping him, again.  “You keep your fucking hands off her, you understand me?”

Sam wasn’t going to cry.  Wasn’t going to whimper and snivel.  But it felt so… so wrong… so humiliating to have his cock throbbing against this other man.  This powerful man that had let him believe he hadn’t walked into a trap, hours ago.  He fought so hard to still his hips.

But then

Graves slid forward.  Cheek to stinging cheek and chest to chest.

Sam let his head fall back and sighed out in embarrassed pleasure as Graves grinded against him.  “I’m not a queer.  Don’t… don’t… sir, you’re not.  You can’t be.”

“Oh, you’re so very wrong, Sam,” Graves cooed into Sam’s ear before a light nibble of the soft lobe.  The director’s hips undulated against his prisoner as his fingers slid up the back of Sam’s neck and into his hair. “I’m a sinner of all stripes.  Sodomy chief among them.  Is that what I should do to you?  Bend you over?  ~Enshunte~ the handle of one of those knives inside you?  Like you do to those girls?”

Sam couldn’t stop himself from whimpering, then.  Couldn’t stop his hips from matching Graves’ slow, circular grind.  He didn’t want to cum.  Couldn’t stop it if he tried.

“Or my cock?” Graves asked.  “Would you buy my silence with the hole you’ve left mostly untouched for nearly 30 years?  With your mouth?”

It only took Graves licking up the shell of Sam’s ear to set the auror off.  He shivered and shook as he spent himself against his boss’s cock.  Graves remained planted on his lap until the last tremors of pleasure tapered off.

Sam sat with his head lolling back and eyes squeezed shut.  Graves was so heavy against him.  So uncomfortably -right- sitting across his lap.

Graves stood, then. Not making an effort to hide his own erection of the mess that Sam’s orgasm had made of his trousers.  He quickly waved a cleaning spell across both their clothing and reached across the desk to grab a quill.

“Sign the consent form for the legilimancy,” he stated in professional tones while pressing the quill into Sam’s hand.

Dazed, Sam leaned over to the desk Percy was organizing and scribbled his signature down.

“Now, rules are that you stay the fuck away from No-maj women.  You learn how to obliviate without a fucking wand like the criminal you are… and you stay the fuck away from -both- Goldsteins,” Graves stated as he shamelessly adjusted his hard cock to lie flat underneath the waistband of his pants.  Sam stared at the rigid bulge with a longing he didn’t want to name.

“I… I don’t understand,” Sam’s voice was trembling.  Small.  Scared, even.

“We all have our vices, Auror,” Graves stated as he spelled the entire collection of papers on his desk into Sam’s folder.  “I have a fondness for men that don’t hold back.”


End file.
